Object of the Damned
by ImperiusDominatus
Summary: An Enforcer is dipatched to investigate a murder within a shabby habblock, only what he finds is much more unexpected. Very short oneshot.


It was the smell that hit me. The fetid stench of rotting flesh infested the small apartment, a macabre reminder of why I was here. I coughed and spluttered, unable to bear it. Pulling a small cloth out of my jacket pocket, I clutched it to my nose. A vain attempt to block the horrible smell eating away at my courage.

At first glance the apartment appeared to be like every other in the hab-block; small, grimy, and filled with ordinary furniture. But, as I stood in the doorway, my hand over my nose, an unnatural darkness seemed to shroud the room. Despite the bright lights above my head, I found myself squinting as if to see through a terrible gloom. Yes, I could feel it now: this place was unholy. The Emperor's light did not shine here.

"Investigator," a grave voice uttered. "You've finally arrived."

Startled, I voiced my surprise with a short gasp. To my right, a man stood in a previously unnoticed doorway, the dark blue fabric of his Enforcer uniform slick with bloodstains. "I am Sergeant Kursk. I've been waiting a while for you."

"Yes, please excuse my lateness," I said quietly, trying to compose myself. "Where is the crime scene?"

Kursk stepped aside, hand out before him, gesturing towards the room he had come from. "In here, sir. Though I warn you, it is not a pretty sight."

"My dear sergeant," I said, casting him an exasperated glance as I made my way towards the door. "I do not expect to come across any pretty sights in my line of work."

As if in ridicule of my last words, the second I set foot in the next room, my body was racked with a fresh wave of nausea. Blood was everywhere; covering the walls, the floors, even the roof. It covered everything, dripping onto the floor and running like a red river towards the centre of the room.

I coughed, feeling bile rise up in my throat. Reaching out towards a set of drawers, I tried to steady myself, only to withdraw in disgust, crimson covering my hand.

"Investigator? Are you alright?"

The bile retreated, my mouth left with a foul taste as I coughed. "Not to worry, I'll be fine."

A crease formed across Kursk's brow, though he dutifully held his tongue. I watched as he took a step towards the end of the dirtied bed in the centre of the room, ignoring the blood pooling at his feet. Bending over, he retrieved a metallic, bloodstained object from the floor, his body blocking my vision of it.

"We removed the bodies earlier," he began morosely. "Two of them, both female: his wife and daughter. Neither of them had a spot of flesh left when we arrived."

Turning on his heel to face me, he handed me the object. "The suspect was wielding this when officers found him. We assume it was used in the murder."

I grasped my fingers around the black hilt of the butcher's knife, the flat surface of the blade casting my curious gaze back at me as I observed it. "By the Throne, why would someone do this?"

"When questioned, the suspect kept repeating the same phrase over and over; that his family was mocking him, always mocking him, and that _it_ told him to kill them."

"It?" I repeated, my curiosity rising further. Kursk seemed to hesitate, his face darkening slightly as his eyes flicked to his hand, which I now noticed was closed in a fist.

"Yes," he said, keeping his gaze lowered. Slowly, opening his fist, he revealed a small black figurine no larger than his hand. With tentative fingers, I eased my grasp around the object, instantly feeling a jolt of unease shoot through my heart as I touched it.

It's slender body seemed strangely inhuman, whilst it bore a leering face full of sharpened teeth and two soulless black orbs I assumed were meant to be eyes.

"When we arrested the suspect, he was holding this in his free hand," Kursk started, though I paid him no heed, my attention lost in the eerily enchanting eyes of the unholy figure I now grasped within my hand. I felt its gaze crawl into me, the spindly tendrils of the Ruinous Powers probing my mind, entering my heart, challenging my faith. I ground my teeth, knowing then what I must do.

"This must be destroyed!"

"Do you have the strength?" Kursk said slowly.

I stopped. Lifting my gaze, I looked into his eyes, hate surging up in me.

"Do I have the strength?" I asked, feeling my grip tighten on the butcher's knife. "Are you mocking me?"


End file.
